


(That's Just Between) Her and Her Friend

by sadclapz



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Girls Kissing, Lesbian Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Making Out, Romantic Friendship, dorothea is an ethereal being and ingrid is bad at kissing but it's okay, feelings are complicated for girls too okay, idk what else to tag, just gals being pals ya know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26114068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadclapz/pseuds/sadclapz
Summary: Spill the drink onto the bed.That's just between her and her friend.-girls kissing cuz they're in love. that's it. that's the story.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Kudos: 30





	(That's Just Between) Her and Her Friend

**Author's Note:**

> two fire emblem fics in one night whew chile. anyways I believe in sapphic ingrid galatea supremacy and so does dorothea. inspired by the song "her and her friend" by tv girl. i know the lyrics are heterosexual but something about this song sounds so sapphic to me...

There was a lethal intention in the hue of red. It was the enduring color of the battlefield, blood staining the stories of soldiers for decades. The color of the dress that cherished her slender figure like a rose; velveteen in crimson, unsuspecting thorns pricking to the slightest touch. Dorothea grew accustomed to it, waltzing through war as ribbons in the wind.

She painted it on the seam of Ingrid’s lips, a wine glass with a puckered mural of dahlia at the rim in the other hand. It was drained of passion, of romance, yet bold and powerful. So becoming of women ahead of the times- surely the traditional housewives in Faerghus would shudder. She winced, the sticking pigment begin to tint. Dorothea giggled, holding her chin still as she continued.

“All done!” she beamed, holding up the hand mirror to her face.

Ingrid’s own reflection felt foreign, powdered and porcelain. Her fingers reached the glass, as if she could touch the unknown woman. She lowered the mirror, giving an unsure smile. Dorothea knelt beside her on the bed, turning her face in different directions to see her finished work. She looked… fragile, as if she didn’t wield lances atop a Pegasus every day for five years. She cupped underneath her jaw, circling her thumb below her lips. Ingrid tensed, ready to halt her hand at any unprecedented movement.

Although, she never realized how green her eyes were. A complimenting emerald to the hue she adorned so often, to the lips she squinted at. Her own parted as she let out a sigh, pitched with frustration and a dove’s coo. Even her breathing was filled with song. Pushing a strand of chestnut behind her ear, red nails lost in endless waves that crashed as an ocean down her back, she studied Ingrid’s mouth with the slightest grin.

“Red is a very unexpected color for you, I will admit,” Dorothea began, letting her hand graze past her neck. “However, I think it’s the most charming color on a woman. Bewitching, even. Especially on you, Ingrid.”

She had to reevaluate who was doing the bewitching. Dorothea took a sip, another crimson bruise upon the glass’ edge.

The mirror dropped onto the bed. Ingrid swallowed, craning her neck to the side, welcoming temptation along her collarbones.

“I think it looks better on you.”

Neither were sure if that was an invitation for something meaning more than just old friends playing with makeup like schoolgirls. Dorothea liked the challenge; trailing down the blonde’s arm to her clenched knuckles, letting her nails trace the bones as miniature, lithe dancers.

It could have been simple seduction. A bit of fun in the dead of war. An excuse to escape sorrows they both hated to face alone. Ingrid looked upon her, eyes in misty grey, encasing the fingers between hers.

The first time she’s felt a force so close to love in five years.

Maybe it truly was love when Dorothea closed the space between them, sheen of wine against her lips, lipstick blemishing the corners of her mouth. A waltz for her- to kiss so deeply, as if it were the last. To pull away slowly in the most tender agony, exhaling a fire of aphrodisiac warmth. Only so the next would draw the other in swiftly, still attempting to savor the last moments of sweetness. Repeat until the other was breathless in eternities that ended far too quickly. All as natural as the palm that conjured branches of auroral lightning; as the nectarous honey that dripped from her vocal chords.

She would always be in Enbarr, leaving the audience wanting more. Even when the audience was a singular woman, with no knowledge of the opera or the evils men could mold with money and fine clothes after each show, pulling her closer.

Ingrid’s dexterity failed to balance, completely baffled that her lips were against hers in the first place. She could only sigh, part her mouth in the slightest, most innocent fear. Feel a bit embarrassed when Dorothea broke away to giggle, push back her pale bangs. She settled into her lap, knees sinking into the plush, guiding solely with her forefingers below her neck.

Ingrid leaned her back into the bed, heart fluttering with panic and ribs threatening to crush around her lungs. The wine sloshed in its glass, sputtering onto her limp wrist. Dorothea casted spells once more, leaving ghosts of incantations across jeweled lips, tongue crafted of velvet. Although sun-bathing in the fires that crackled between her teeth, Ingrid felt helpless, only being able to reciprocate with inept puckers and shameful noises.

Which was enough for Dorothea; reciprocation. And from _Ingrid,_ assuming she never gave a second look to anything but a lance and a horse. Perhaps love meddled into corners of the syllables.

She attempted to wrap her arms around Ingrid’s neck, to breathe in her nostalgic scent- lavender? A hint of rosemary? – as the wine glass tipped, carmine solvent soaking into the sheets, dripping off her mahogany curls, bleeding onto their bare necks. Yet still, they caressed and embraced all the same, their lips in endless encore.

Until the clock tower rang its holy song throughout the monastery. It was midnight, only the stars and crickets in chorus outside. Dorothea pulled away, taking in a breath of whatever good sense was left in the air, the wine welding into her palms. Ingrid was stagnant, frozen in silk and liquid toxin, but gazing as if begging for more.

It was late, they both agreed. There was a war meeting after dawn. They should have retired hours ago. Don’t worry about the mess, she had spare sheets and she would do laundry before lunch. Thank you for the makeup, the wine, the lovely night.

Trying to think of reasons to leave was much harder than reasons to stay. Dorothea placed the glass on the vanity, collected her pigments and stains, and bid her goodnight. Ingrid looked in the mirror, lipstick scattered across her chin and teeth. She took the glass in her hand, holding the rim to her lips.

She kissed each imprint that night.

**Author's Note:**

> not happy with the end (i struggle with endings SO BAD) but regardless i hope you enjoyed


End file.
